


Say Something

by keeperofthemoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, and shes trying to figure out, in which ron and hermione, try to figure out, why shes interested in them, why they're interested in pansy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthemoon/pseuds/keeperofthemoon
Summary: Weasley’s face was flushed, the same shade it had in the library all those years ago when Granger had thanked him. And it was awkward, Pansy decided, to find out this information about Weasley and Granger’s concern over her. She had no real relationship with either of them. None at all. There was some odd attraction to the pair on her part, sure, that made her eyes find them whenever they were near but that was it. But to hear that they had been worried about her, that they had bloody Looney Lovegood ask Draco about her…She thought of how often she had wanted something akin to their friendship growing up. Pansy wondered if this is what it would’ve been like, or if this is what it was like for Potter-- having them try to make sure she was okay without her actually knowing. That if they hadn’t found out from a friend of hers that she was fine, Weasley and Granger would’ve shown up at her family’s manor to check on her unannounced.Hermione x Pansy x Ron





	1. Chapter 1

_November 5th, 1993_

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

The girl’s whisper seemed to echo in the silence of the library. Quill jerking to a stop, Pansy looked up from her parchment and glanced around. She had secured a rather hidden spot in between the rows of shelves, determined to finish her Charms homework before she headed back to the dormitory. If she didn’t and Millicent spied her working still, she’d be forced to help the girl with her own homework. Sometimes, of course, Pansy didn’t mind, for it allowed her to show off how much smarter she was than her dormmates. Tonight, however, she wanted to sit with Draco and Blaise and listen to them discuss the upcoming Quidditch game.

“He’s a giant git!”

A boy spoke now. Whoever was poorly attempting to whisper was making it hard for Pansy to concentrate. She pressed her lips together, frustrated, before trying to recall what she had been writing about. Putting the tip of her quill back to the parchment, she read over the last sentence she had neatly written. 

_There are several reasons_ Carpe Retractum _is taught in both Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes—_

“He could’ve punished you even worse though.”

“Yeah? I think scrubbing bedpans by hand is pretty horrible, don’t you? My hands still smell, I swear.”

A large inkblot was staining her parchment but Pansy neither noticed nor cared. Suddenly, it clicked who was speaking in the aisle next to hers. Weasley and Granger. _Of course_. How did she not recognize their voices right away? And who else would disrupt her silence? She had a feeling they didn’t realize she was near though. What could they possibly be speaking about? Something she could share tonight with Draco? Some secret that would make Draco and Blaise roar with laughter? The thought of it thrilled her.

Standing from her seat, Pansy quietly moved to the end of the aisle. Peering around the shelf, she spied Granger chewing nervously on her bottom lip as Weasley stood on his tip toes to reach a book. Her eyebrows ticked upwards. He was a wizard. Why wouldn’t he use a spell to get the book? It was clearly out of reach.

“I never got to thank you.”

“What d’you mean?” 

“Well, for defending me. From Professor Snape. I _can_ be a know-it-all sometimes and you didn’t have to say anything. I mean, honestly, he could’ve given you a week of detentions for speaking back to him—”

“Oi, Hermione, you’re—I mean, look—don’t thank me. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have even been there! It’s Lupin’s class—”

“—Professor Lupin, Ron—”

“—and we weren’t supposed to be learning about werewolves yet, were we? Snape was only trying to make us feel stupid and you wouldn’t let him so. Yeah.”

Granger gave a soft sniff and pushed her wild hair from her face.

“I still mean it, though. Thank you. Just… don’t do it again, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises. I don’t think Snape knows how to not be an arse.”

The insult to Professor Snape made Granger reach out and slap Weasley’s arm lightly. But it was clear she was fighting a smile. Light from the candles showed Pansy that Weasley’s face flushed, right to the tip of his ears. Pansy had never seen him go so red before. Whenever Draco insulted Weasley, Weasley would redden in rage. But this was different. Pansy cocked her head, surprised by the soft, embarrassed looks Granger and Weasley were exchanging. Sickening.

“Let’s get this book before Harry’s done practice, yeah?”

Pansy jolted to life when Granger waved her wand; the book gently floated off the shelf towards the pair. Aware that any second now they’d turn and spot her, Pansy hurriedly stepped backwards before rushing to her table. She didn’t want Weasley and Granger to know she had been listening in on them. It would be easy for her to make fun of them, to call them lovebirds and mock them, but… she was surprised to find she didn’t want to. Would Draco or Blaise or Daphne ever defend her against a professor? Would they ever thank her if she defended them from McGonagall or Flitwick? Because that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? Professor Snape must’ve made fun of Granger and Weasley must’ve defended her. 

Quietly, Pansy gathered her things, shoving them into her bag. 

She felt like she had witnessed something she shouldn’t have—a tender moment between best friends. Something she had never experienced before. Her stomach clenched and her lips twitched into a frown as she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and snuck away from the pair in the aisle beside her.

~*~

_March 2nd, 1997_

It had spread like wildfire through the school—Weasley had been poisoned in Slughorn’s office. Potter, of course, had managed to save him. Draco had gone extremely pale when the rumor hit his ears; he immediately claimed to feel ill and holed up in his dormitory. So when Slughorn had come begging for someone to cover Weasley’s Prefect patrol shift, his attention had fallen on Pansy. Slughorn had offered it as extra credit in Potions and Pansy had agreed.

Now, she rather wished she wouldn’t have. 

Granger’s eyes were swollen, her hands twitchy by her sides, her teeth chewing nonstop on her bottom lip to the point that it was chapped. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, to the point that Pansy almost felt… well, pity wasn’t the right word. But, for once, Pansy felt _something_ for the girl. She often thought about that day in the library, when she saw the true friendship between Weasley and Granger. For years after, she had been disgusted by the envy she felt over Potter’s sidekicks’ friendship. It had made her far crueler than normal, especially to Weasley and Granger. It took a lot for her to bite her tongue around the other girl even now, so they patrolled the corridors in silence. But when Granger brought a shaky hand up to her nose to wipe it… something inside Pansy seemed to give.

“Why are you here?” 

The words came out sharp, harsh. Granger looked at Pansy in shock. Had she somehow forgotten that Pansy was there? That they were looking for students out past curfew?

“What?” 

“I said,” Pansy began slowly, staring back at Granger. “Why are you here?”

Granger’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m patrolling the corridors, as per my Prefect duties.”

“Yes, obviously, as am I or I’d be tucked away in bed. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re distracted. I’m rather positive a student could run circles around you right now and you wouldn’t notice.”

They turned a corner and Pansy glanced away from Granger, making sure they were alone still. Did she really care if a student was out of bed? No. But it was fun docking points, especially if they were Gryffindors, and she needed _something_ to entertain her right now.

Pansy looked back at Granger and blinked, surprised by the heat of the glare Granger shot her. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m pointing out your rather disgusting concern over Weasley.” Though, really, Pansy couldn’t blame her. If it were Draco in that bed, or Daphne or Blaise, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Granger didn’t need to know that though. “Shouldn’t you be crying by his bedside? Or sobbing into your pillow?”

There had been many nights that Granger had been the cause of Pansy crying into her own pillow, curtains closed around her four-poster bed as she released her frustrations. Jealous, horrible tears would soak her pillow as she wished to be half as brilliant as the witch she mocked. Pansy remembered that suddenly and her cheeks flushed. 

“Why do you care, Parkinson?”

Granger asked the question, suddenly relaxed and cool, the fury having left her as quickly as it came. She was studying Pansy as though she were a riddle, curiosity brightening her eyes. Pansy stared back. Why _did_ she care? There was no answer to that so Pansy looked away.

“You’re not nearly as fun to tease at the moment,” Pansy replied, waving her hand lazily in Granger’s direction. “Snotty nose, sniffling... I’d much rather do this alone.”

“I thought you preferred me on the verge of tears. Or is that only allowed by your doing?” Granger paused. “I’d say you seemed a bit concerned but I’m not sure, as I’ve never seen you show any true emotion.”

She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, though she wanted to smirk. It was so easy to get Granger to drop her goody two shoes act. And, honestly, it was something Pansy enjoyed making happen very much. Draco didn’t seem able to get such a reaction from the Gryffindor anymore but Pansy… oh, she knew what buttons to push to annoy Granger. It gave her such delight.

“Concerned for who? You? Or Weasley?” she questioned, trying to read Granger’s expression from her peripheral vision.

“I’m rather curious about that myself.”

A choked laugh escaped Pansy and she couldn’t stop herself from looking at Granger fully. The nerve of the witch! As though Pansy would ever care about _them_ —a blood traitor and a Muggle born! Granger was serious though, her arms folded over her chest as she waited for an answer. Merlin, if Draco could hear this conversation…

“Are you such an idiot that you don’t recognize an out when given one?” Pansy asked sharply, eyebrows lifting high on her forehead. “Leave. Go see your boyfriend. You look absolutely dreadful, which is saying something, as I had been forced in your company when your teeth were the size of a beaver’s.”

Granger clenched her fists by her side, as though to stop herself from grabbing her wand. She looked very pretty in that moment, despite the red rimmed eyes and runny nose. Pansy’s mouth went dry at the realization—she had never thought Granger looked pretty before. She wasn’t pretty. Just… well, perhaps, just in that moment. 

“Go on, Granger. I won’t tell that you’ve been slacking,” Pansy promised silkily.

Granger blinked, as though surprised by the assurance. They held each other’s gazes for a long moment and Pansy knew Granger’s mind was whirling, could tell by the way her eyes narrowed slightly, by how she bit her lip gently. How many times had Pansy seen Granger wear that look during class? But then Granger turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Pansy without a backward glance. 

~*~

_May 5th, 1998_

A collapsed Ministry. A battle won—by the good guys. Pansy didn’t know where she stood, as she had taken the cowards way out and hid in Hogsmeade during the fighting. So she waited at the Three Broomsticks, where Rosmerta watched her with a wary eye. Rosmerta must’ve regretted offering the pub as refuge to anyone with nowhere to go once she realized she was going to be stuck with Pansy but, really, Pansy didn’t care. The old hag would simply have to deal with her. 

Pansy picked at the table top absentmindedly, watching as students and adults filtered in and out. She thought of her friends—they were students too, but enemies to everyone around her. Draco was with his parents somewhere, being questioned intensely by Aurors. Blaise had Apparated away from Hogsmeade almost as soon as the battle begun, begging Pansy to come with him. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t or why she didn’t leave to find him now. Daphne had taken her little sister and had holed up in the Slytherin common room, under the care of Slughorn, who had come to Hogsmeade to bring back any students who were alone and parentless. Pansy wasn’t sure why she hadn’t gone with him either.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to run away from Hogwarts, which had been her home for the past seven years, but she couldn’t go back and face the consequences of what she had said several days before.

_But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!_

Yes, perhaps it was that. The cold rage on McGonagall’s face when the words had left Pansy’s mouth had said it all. The student body turning their wands on Pansy, as though she was the Dark Lord, still haunted her. Was she not allowed to be afraid? Guilt weighed so heavily in her stomach, though, that she knew the answer.

“I thought I’d find you with friends. Shouldn’t be surprised you’re left alone.”

Pansy jumped, the voice bringing her back to reality so quickly that she had to blink several times to realize who was in front of her. Long nose, freckled face, light eyes—Weasley glared down at her as he blocked her view of the entrance.

“What?” she croaked.

She wasn’t sure she had spoken at all the past few days. Weasley sneered before pulling out the seat across from her, sitting without permission. Pansy watched him, curling her hands in her lap. If he had come to hex her, she would have to let him. There was no one on her side here.

“All your Slytherin friends leave you?” 

Pansy didn’t respond, instead studying the boy across from her. His eyes seemed sunken in, his lips twisted horribly as he glared at her. He looked hostile, angry, malevolent. She thought instantly of the soft look he had worn when he spoke to Granger in the library all those years ago. He wasn’t a horrible person, _she_ was, which was why Weasley could smile sweetly at Granger and stare at Pansy as though he was barely refraining from cursing her. 

“I have news for you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Weasley didn’t say anything further. The hair on the back of Pansy’s neck stood on end and she twisted her hands in her lap, waiting. Finally, when the silence stretched on too long, she snapped.

“My God, go on, Weasley. The anticipation is killing me.” 

The sarcasm she hoped to portray seemed lacking. Weasley’s lips pressed together as he stared at her.

“Your dad is dead. His body was found out by the forest and has finally been identified.”

Oh. 

Her breath left her and she leaned back in her seat, staring into the blue of Weasley’s eyes and wondering how she was supposed to feel. Of course, Pansy had assumed her father had died during the battle, fighting alongside the fools he had aligned himself with decades ago. Perhaps that’s why she had stayed at the Three Broomsticks. A mother who was long dead and a father who was likely dead… where was she supposed to go? Home to an empty manor to await the Aurors?

“Well,” Pansy managed to say, after another terrible silence stretched on between them. “I suspected that. After all, it was either that or he had opted to not look for me after the fighting finished. Either seemed likely.”

Something flickered across Weasley’s face, an emotion Pansy couldn’t read. It seemed to shatter the intensity of his fury. She ignored it. Lifting her thumb to her lips, she chewed on her nail in a rare show of anxiety. Weasley’s gaze flitted down to her mouth then back to her eyes.

“Is this how the new Ministry is doing this? Having classmates tell each other if their parents are alive or dead?” she inquired, lowering her hand back down to her lap.

“No. I heard my parents talking about it. I wanted to find you and let you know myself.”

The confession made Pansy’s eyes widen in surprise. Her lips parted and she tried to think of something to say, something as harsh and cold and cruel, but nothing came to mind.

“Why?” she asked weakly.

Weasley seemed to be waiting for the question, for he leaned across the table, closing some of the distance between them.

“You would’ve turned Harry over to Voldemort given the chance. You’re rotten and horrible and you were willing to sacrifice Harry for your own bloody selfishness.”

“My selfishness to live?” Pansy interrupted, voice spiking wildly as she straightened in her seat.

“—all you Slytherins did this, your parents did this, he would’ve lived if it hadn’t been for you! None of this would’ve happened if you weren’t so—so bloody foul! He’d still be alive, I know it, I know it! You caused this!”

“What are you talking about? Potter is alive! He won the battle!”

“Not Harry!” Weasley cried out. “Fred! He’d still be alive if it weren’t for all of you!”

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he glowered at Pansy. She stared back, guarded. 

Ah. This all made sense suddenly. Fred was one of his twin brothers, wasn’t he? He had cursed Pansy so she grew antlers at the end of fifth year. It had been horrible. How could she forget him? And he had died. That’s why Weasley had so maliciously decided to deliver the news of Perseus Parkinson’s death to her. Was it some sort of revenge? 

Pansy licked her dry lips as she considered the boy in front of her. The noise of the pub seemed to disappear as Pansy leaned forward. There was barely any space between them now. Weasley’s eyes narrowed. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

“There was an army of you Weasleys out there fighting, wasn’t there? Are you really surprised one of you died?”

Weasley blinked before standing abruptly and slamming his hands down on the table. He let out a cry—or a roar or a wounded sound that seemed to come from deep inside—and Pansy flinched. He was going to grab his wand from his pocket and kill her, she knew it, and she was almost ready for it, really, when a voice distracted them from each other.

“Ron! Ron, don’t! What are you doing?”

Weasley and Pansy both looked to the entrance. Granger stood there, hair tousled even more than normal and cheeks flushed. Pansy wondered if she had run here from the castle. She started towards them, dodging the other pub occupants to reach them. Weasley turned his attention back to Pansy.

“You don’t deserve to be here. You’re heartless and cruel—”

“You sound much more pleased by my father’s death than I do about your brother’s, wouldn’t you say?” she hissed back. “Who’s the cruel one now?

“Your dad was a Death Eater!”

“I’m not denying that, am I? Yet here you are, rubbing it in my face that my father died as if it will somehow bring back your idiotic brother. Your brother should’ve hidden here with me—he’d still be alive then,” Pansy paused, eyebrow ticking upwards. “At least you still have other family to go to, you selfish moron.”

Weasley’s face flushed. Before he could speak again, Granger arrived at his side, pulling at his arm so abruptly that he stumbled away from the table. 

“Ron!”

“Gerroff, Hermione!”

“Ron, tell me you didn’t!” Granger turned her panicked gaze on Pansy before looking back at Weasley. “I know you heard what your parents said. Tell me you didn’t say anything!”

“Of course he did,” Pansy interjected, folding her arms over her chest. “Weasley has never learned to keep his mouth shut, has he?”

Granger’s large eyes met Pansy’s and there was something there that made Pansy’s insides twist. After a second, she realized what it was: pity. That’s what she had seen on Weasley’s face moments ago and now Granger looked at her the same way. Did they feel _bad_ for her? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“It’s fine.”

Nothing was fine, so Pansy wasn’t sure why she said that. Weasley stopped trying to shake off Granger’s grip on him. The pity left Granger’s eyes as quickly as it had come, replaced with that intense look of calculation she often wore. Pansy hadn’t seen that look in so long—she almost missed it, she realized. Her heart raced as she looked between the two of them.

“I’m… I’m sorry for your loss, Parkinson,” Granger said.

“I’m not.”

“Ron!”

“I’m not, Hermione! I won’t pretend I am!”

“There’s no need to be cruel! They lost the war, they—”

“I lost Fred! Isn’t that more important? They don’t deserve peace—”

Suddenly, Weasley seemed to collapse in on himself and Granger caught him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. The image burned itself in Pansy’s mind and she had to blink rapidly to look away. Quickly, she slid out of her seat and darted away from the table. 

_They_ lost the war, Granger had said. _They_ don’t deserve peace, Weasley had said. Granger and Weasley grouped her in with the Death Eaters and murderers, with the Dark Lord, as if they were there to support Pansy. In that moment, she felt more alone than she ever had before.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

_September 3rd, 1999_

Pansy peered around the corner. The coast was clear. After taking a second to make sure she had grabbed the correct books, Pansy headed towards the cashier. She didn’t speak when the cashier asked how she was; she was too focused on everything else around her. And it wasn’t like the cashier actually cared whether Pansy was having a good day or not. But, if Pansy had answered, she’d let the man know she _wasn’t_ having a good day and to bugger off. 

It was just… well, coming to Diagon Alley with Draco and Blaise was a terrifying experience, one she hated to put herself through. People could be cruel. She recognized herself in their jeers, their glares, their laughter as she passed them. But going to Diagon Alley by herself, because her friends were _horrible_ and made plans that didn’t involve her, was even worse. Paranoia made her jumpy, worried, snappish. Pansy had been constantly looking over her shoulder the last hour, waiting for someone to approach her with a wand to her back. Which, honestly, wasn’t the most unrealistic thing for her to fear. It was only a few months ago that Draco had been jumped as he made his way through Hogsmeade.

The beginning of September was surprisingly hard for her, though. It reminded her of preparing for Hogwarts, of eagerly flipping through the new required books, of getting fitted for new robes, of convincing her father she desperately needed whatever had caught her eye. It had been announced the summer after her seventh year that any student who wanted to retake their seventh year or any student who hadn’t been able to complete their Hogwarts education the year before could return for an eighth year. Pansy had opted not to. The weeks before September first, she had hidden away at Malfoy Manor with Draco, ignoring the fact that it felt so very wrong. 

But then that school year was over and summer was coming to an end and the itch to go to Diagon Alley when everyone else would be there shopping for the upcoming term had been overwhelming. The thought of being surrounded by so many people who hated her, however… 

Pansy shivered at the idea of it. The cashier’s eyebrows lifted but he didn’t say anything as he continued to bag her purchases.

So Pansy had waited until all the students had gone off to school. Diagon Alley was mostly empty, an odd sight that Pansy hadn’t seen since the Dark Lord had begun to infiltrate the Ministry. There was no Dark Lord now, however, only parents who were off working and children who were off learning.

When the cashier finally finished, Pansy snatched the bag from his hands and headed towards the exit. She pushed the door open, inhaling the crisp fresh air and was looking to the left to check for anyone who could do her harm when—

“Blimey! Parkinson?”

Pansy let out a shrill shriek, jumping to the side as she whipped her head around to look to her right. And it was… Weasley. He was staring at her as though she were a ghost, his eyes large and his jaw dropped. The sight of him made her heart race and palms sweat. Her wand was in her pocket, she could grab it still, she could arm herself. If he pulled a wand on her, she had time to defend herself.  
Instead, she hugged her bag to her chest and stepped away from him. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, lifting a hand as though to calm her.

“You didn’t,” she snapped.

“Oh.” Weasley frowned. “Look, I—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re about to do, whatever you want to say, save it. I don’t need to hear it.”

Weasley took a small step forward, hesitant and slow, and Pansy’s mouth went dry. He was tall, towering over her, but there was something so gentle about him in that moment that she felt frozen. 

“I should—I need to say sorry. To you.”

The words sounded like they were being torn from his throat. It was clear Weasley didn’t often apologize. Pansy, who was rarely on the receiving end of an apology, found herself scowling. Merlin, Gryffindors were so predictable.

“If it’s about my father, like I said before, _save it_. I don’t need your pity or your apologies, Weasley. You wanted to hurt me. I understand why.”

Weasley stared at her in shock before noticeably swallowing. Had he thought himself hard to read? Then, his shoulders hunched and he spoke.

“Do you?” 

He had been in pain. Pansy understood that now. His older brother had died. Likely more than anyone, Pansy understood the feeling of being in pain and wanting to lash out at someone. Weasley had opted to lash out at someone who deserved it. That person had been her. After all, Pansy had been willing to sacrifice his best friend in order to save her own neck—to save Draco and Blaise and Millicent and Daphne too but, especially, to save herself.

“Yes,” she replied honestly. 

Weasley stared at her—he stared at her in a way that reminded her of Granger and made her toes curl in her shoes. He had no right to look at her that way, as if he was trying to figure her out, as if he was figuring her out. 

“Hermione had wanted us to find you. To visit you. She—” He hesitated and Pansy waited for him to continue, heart beating loudly in her ears. “She had been worried.”

“Worried?”

“Yeah.”

“Granger had been worried about me?” Pansy lifted an eyebrow. “Seems a bit unlikely, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does, but Hermione’s smart, you know? I mean, it took me a while but stuff like that can.” She frowned, unsure of what he was rambling about. “But when I realized what I had said, what I had done, I had been worried over you too. We hadn’t heard anything about you until…”

“Until the trials?” Pansy supplied dryly when he trailed off.

The trials of the Death Eaters and their children had been a rather public event, occurring for months after the war. They definitely would’ve known she was alive and well when her trial occurred. Her face had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet.

“No,” he replied quickly. He shook his head and a jolt of surprise went through her. “Luna—I guess she’s sort of friends with Malfoy?”

Sort of friends described Lovegood’s relationship with Draco perfectly. After being kept in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, Lovegood had sought Draco out. Draco never fully explained why but he met up with her monthly for tea and biscuits. Pansy and Blaise let him do so without teasing or looking in to it too much. Everyone had their own way of dealing with the trauma of the war. 

“Well, yeah, she had told us she was meeting up with Malfoy and I had thought to have Luna ask him if you were—if you were okay and Hermione agreed, because we know you were friends with the git at Hogwarts. So Luna did. And she had said that Malfoy said you were okay, so… so I didn’t want to show up on your doorstep like an idiot or anything.”

Weasley’s face was flushed, the same shade it had in the library all those years ago when Granger had thanked him. And it was awkward, Pansy decided, to find out this information about Weasley and Granger’s concern over her. She had no real relationship with either of them. Nothing at all. Some odd attraction to the pair, sure, that made her eyes find them whenever they were near but that was it. But to hear that they had been worried about her, that they had bloody Looney Lovegood ask Draco about her…

She thought of how often she had wanted something akin to their friendship growing up. Pansy wondered if this is what it would’ve been like, or if this is what it was like for Potter— having them try to make sure she was okay without her actually knowing. That if they hadn’t found out from a friend of hers that she was fine, Weasley and Granger would’ve shown up at her family’s manor to check on her unannounced.

“I made mistakes too,” Pansy said to fill the silence.

Weasley shoved his hands in his pockets at the admission. Of course, if he had followed the trials, he would remember her making the same confession on the stand. Snotty nosed, sobbing so hard she could barely speak, tears running down her face, Pansy had tried to make the deciders of her fate understand that she had been _afraid_ and wasn’t like her father. She rather hoped she wouldn’t have to do the same with Weasley right now.

“I wasn’t perfect at school, or kind. Especially to you or Granger. So… yes, I understand why you wanted to be the one to deliver the news about my father.”

Weasley nodded, clearly feeling as uncomfortable as she did with this conversation.

“I came to pick that up for Hermione, actually.”

Pansy frowned at the change of conversation before seeing that Weasley’s gaze was trained on the bag she held against her chest. She looked down at it and saw that the bag had lowered, exposing one of the books she had purchased. 

_Numerology and Grammatica._

“Crookshanks destroyed it the other day so I decided to buy her a new one. Just, um, a gift. Yeah.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Their concentration was broken when someone exited the shop, walking in between the two with mumbled apologies. While her view of Weasley was blocked, Pansy straightened and lowered her bag down from her chest to her side. Merlin, she likely looked like a frightened little girl. 

“Well. I’ll be on my way then.”

Pansy inclined her head slightly, unsure of what a proper goodbye for Weasley would be, and turned on the spot. She walked away from him as quickly and dignified as she could. 

“Parkinson!”

She looked over her shoulder at the strangled call. Weasley was rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes lowered to the ground as though he were avoiding her gaze.

“It was good to see you.”

What? Pansy almost dropped her bag to the ground in surprise. Weasley didn’t give her a chance to respond—though she wasn’t sure what she could possibly say—for he walked inside the bookshop with only a single hurried glance at her. 

~*~

_November 20th, 1999_

It was boring, Pansy decided, to have a job. She understood she needed a job, for the little money the Ministry allowed her to keep after seizing her deceased father’s assets had begun to dwindle. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. For four days out of the week, Pansy had the privilege of faking a smile at any of the Muggles who walked in and trying to convince them to let her make them pretty. Makeup had always been an interest of Pansy’s—there had been many late nights that she taught Daphne and Millicent how to use eyeliner on the floor of their dormitory, trying not to laugh when one of them would mess up. And, it seemed, makeup was an interest of most Muggles. 

The boutique she worked at was small and tidy and _homey_. Cho Chang, who had opened the shop a few years back in Muggle London, was hoping that by adding a makeup section she’d attract more customers. Pansy wasn’t sure it was working but she wasn’t going to point that out to Chang or she’d lose her main source of income. 

Letting out a loud sigh, Pansy leaned back against the counter and looked up at the ceiling. Blaise had snorted coffee from his nose when she told him what her new job was. Daphne’s eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline. Millicent had given an uneasy shrug. Draco had met her gaze, his lips pressed firmly together, before giving a slight nod of understanding. This new world wasn’t easy for any of them. Working among the Muggles—

The bell above the door chimed and Pansy straightened right away. Chang had more than once asked her to look more attentive when customers came in and, for once, Pansy was trying to do as she was told. Looking to the door, Pansy opened her mouth, ready to spit out the friendly greeting Chang had taught her. But the sight before her momentarily silenced her.

“Parkinson.”

“Granger.”

Granger was clearly caught off guard by Pansy’s presence in the boutique. She glanced around before her gaze landed on Pansy once more. Her heart raced unexpectedly; Granger looked rather lovely today, didn’t she? Her hair was pulled back, showing off the flush of her face and the brown of her eyes. It had been… well, it had been a while since Pansy had been forced in Granger’s company. Pansy was surprised by the rush of adrenaline that hit her at the sight of the other witch. When Granger twisted her hands in front of her awkwardly, Pansy realized she had been staring. Abruptly, she turned and walked over to her makeup counter, her back to Granger. She grabbed her favorite lipstick— _Rouge Kiss_ —and began reapplying it in the mirror.

“I… wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Granger said, breaking the long stretch of silence between them.

Pansy heard her take several steps further into the store. 

“Makeup is makeup and Muggles are fools,” Pansy replied. “But Muggles don’t know about the war and they don’t mind the daughter of a dead Death Eater teaching them how to apply mascara. Even war criminals need to eat.”

“You were cleared of any wrongdoing. You’re not a war criminal.”

When Pansy looked for Granger in the reflection of the mirror, she was surprised to see how close she was to Pansy. A jolt of warmth went through her and Pansy turned to look at her. Granger’s arms were crossed over her chest, defensive as always around Pansy, but her gaze was soft. She was chewing on her bottom lip. Pansy wanted to comment on it—to tell her to _stop_ doing that, it was distracting— but she didn’t. 

“Would you like me to pick out a shade of lipstick I think suits you best? It is my job, after all.”

“I’m not here for any of that.” 

Granger’s nose scrunched, as though she didn’t need makeup and wasn’t sure the purpose of it. And she didn’t need it, Pansy realized as her eyes traced over her.

“Then why are you here?”

Granger tilted her head but didn’t speak. Pansy was reminded of Weasley in Diagon Alley, of the way he had studied her, as if he were figuring her out. Was Granger trying to figure her out too? The idea of it made her face warm. Why was it when she was with one of them she always thought of the other? Perhaps she had always viewed Granger and Weasley as a pair—where one ended, the other began. She should think of Potter as apart of them too—they were so laughably coined the Golden Trio for a reason, after all—but most of the times Pansy had dealt with Granger and Weasley at school, it had only been the two of them.

Taking several steps closer to Pansy, Granger tilted her head. Pansy breathed out of her nose slowly, willing her calm expression to remain.

“Parkinson, do you really—”

“Ah, Hermione!” 

Pansy jumped at the unexpected voice. She was pleased to see that Granger had also jumped, spinning on her heel to face Chang. Chang smiled prettily at the ladies as she placed a wrapped parcel on the counter.

“I had been wondering who Pansy was talking to Muggles about. And, really Pansy, you need to stop calling them Muggles. What’s going to happen when someone who we don’t know walks in and hears you say that, hmm? Either way, here’s what you asked for, Hermione. I wrapped it up for you…”

It was as though they hadn’t been speaking at all. Granger walked away from Pansy, not looking back once. Pansy stared at Chang and Granger interacting, though she didn’t bother listening to what they were saying. Chang had a habit of rambling to customers, whether they were friends or not, and Pansy had listened to her spiel more times than she wanted. Taking a seat behind the makeup counter, Pansy studied her nails, looking for any chips in the dark paint that coated them. But her eyes continued to lift and find Granger.

Granger and Weasley were together, Pansy knew that. The Daily Prophet gossip section randomly reported on the heroes of the war, updates to let the public know that the people who had saved the world were happy and healthy. Even if the Daily Prophet didn’t report on the pair, Pansy would’ve known; she could still remember their spats at Hogwarts, the rumors that swirled when Weasley was poisoned, the protectiveness in their eyes before the battle. She still remembered the incident in the library. Pansy couldn’t help but be intrigued by the pair. It felt like Granger and Weasley entered and exited her life whenever they pleased, gazes curious and probing. 

“You did nothing wrong during the battle.”

Pansy looked up, eyes wide. She hadn’t realized she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she missed Granger approaching. 

“I think the general public would disagree,” Pansy replied.

She looked around the shop and realized Chang must’ve gone into the back again. Granger and Pansy were alone. 

“It was perfectly reasonable to leave the castle, to protect yourself,” Granger said briskly. “We were children.”

“You didn’t run and hide.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Weasley, Potter, they didn’t hide either. Or the Gryffindors or Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs who stayed,” Pansy reminded her. “Just me and my friends.”

“You shouldn’t have been expected to fight and risk your life. Our decision to stay in the castle was… crazy, to be honest. Harry had no choice, though, and Ron and I couldn’t leave him. But we shouldn’t have expected everyone to be willing to stay.”

Granger was being earnest—it was so easy for Pansy to tell. The imploring tone, the brightness in her eyes, the anxious twist of her hands in front of her… Pansy knew Granger enough to know that, for whatever reason, Granger _wanted_ to tell her this.

“I had wanted to turn Potter over. Have you forgotten that?”

“Hardly,” Granger scoffed. 

Pansy wasn’t sure what to say. Narrowing her eyes, Pansy looked over Granger. The parcel Chang had given her was tucked under her arm and she should be _leaving_ but she wasn’t. Granger was here, in front of Pansy’s makeup counter, imploring her to understand something she couldn’t.

“I don’t need your pity,” Pansy said, recalling the empathy that had shone so clearly in Granger and Weasley’s eyes when the news of her father’s death had been delivered. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what is this?” she snapped.

“I’m not sure,” Granger answered truthfully, eyes lowering to the ground before finding Pansy’s again. “I don’t know.”

Granger knew everything. She was the brightest witch Hogwarts had seen in ages. Yet she wasn’t sure what this—this odd moment between her and Pansy—was. The air around them seemed to warm.

They stared at each other for a few moments longer before Granger inhaled slowly and walked away, leaving the boutique. Pansy couldn’t help but leave her seat and follow Granger’s footsteps. She stopped when she reached the door and watched as Granger disappeared in the crowd outside the shop.

~*~

_February 17th, 2000_

Pansy had told Draco that she’d look over his report for work and edit it. Draco was rather good at writing but lack confidence. At Hogwarts, he would help explain the more difficult aspects of Potions class if, in return, she’d read over his essays and pat his head and tell him it was splendid. But this report was boring. Halfway through, Pansy had begun to doodle little hearts on the side of the parchment, uninterested.

It was when someone pulled out the seat across from her and sat down that she was jolted back to reality. 

“These seats taken?”

A scowl came naturally to her lips at the question—she knew she should’ve taken the coffee to go and done this at home—but it dropped when she realized who had sat at her table uninvited.

_Ron._

His first name almost left her tongue, disbelief from the sight of him breaking down her filters. Immediately, she looked away from Weasley and around the café. Pansy had a feeling… Ah, there she was. Granger was ordering drinks from the barista. Warmth spread through Pansy as she turned her attention back to Weasley.

“Would it matter if I said they were?” she drawled.

“Hmm.” He seemed to think about it. “Maybe.”

“Are you drunk?”

“It’s only noon!”

“Yes, well, I can’t think of any other reason of why you’re sitting here with me. There are plenty of empty tables around us, Weasley.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m doing work.”

“You seemed to be daydreaming to me.”

Weasley slid his arm across the table. His pointer finger tapped the parchment where the hearts were drawn as a small smile lit up his face. Pansy wanted to smile too, shockingly amused by this fool before her, but she bit it back. 

“Rather messy handwriting you have,” Weasley noted.

“It’s not mine.” 

Her handwriting was far neater. She took pride in it, unlike Draco.

“Then whose is it?”

“None of your business.”

“Argh, is it Malfoy?”

Weasley’s face twisted comically. 

“What makes you say that?” Pansy asked, eyes narrowing though there was no heat behind her glare.

“You were always doing that for him at school.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I paid attention,” Weasley said, shrugging. “You were both dating, weren’t you?”

Straightening, Pansy yanked the parchment out of Weasley’s view and began rolling it up. Merlin, he was annoying. She shoved the parchment in her bag, ready to leave this conversation.

“No, we weren’t, you fool, and we aren’t now either. We’re friends.” Weasley’s eyebrows lifted as his lips curled in a smile, and Pansy’s rant faltered. She paused, looking him over, before continuing. “We help each other out. I must admit I’m surprised the concept is foreign to you. I assumed Granger did all your schoolwork at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, not all of it.”

Granger slid into the seat beside Weasley and placed two coffees and some biscuits on the table. She flashed Pansy a quick smile before she began pulling out several large books from her bag. Weasley grabbed the plate of biscuits right away and stretched out in his seat, apparently more at ease now that Granger had arrived.

“They had to do their work and I’d check it over for any mistakes,” Granger informed her. “There were always mistakes.”

“That’s not true!”

“Ron, honestly, if I hadn’t looked over your work, I’m not sure you would’ve made it past fourth year.”

There was no harshness to Granger’s words. When Weasley let out a shout of mock anger, Granger giggled into her hand. Pansy watched, struck silent by what was occurring in front of her. 

_Say something_ , the voice inside her head whispered. _Say something!_

“Why are you both here?” she finally managed.

“Lunchbreak,” Weasley responded easily, taking a bite of the biscuit.

Granger nodded in agreement, her eyes flitting up to meet Pansy’s for only a second before focusing on the book in front of her.

“Of course,” Pansy said, looking between the two. “But why are you _here_? Where’s Potter?”

“With Gin,” Weasley said, wiping the crumbs from his hands. “They do lunch together when they can. Ginny’s my sister; they’re dating.”

Pansy knew all that already. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“I know who your sister is.”

“You do?”

“She’s a rather well known Quidditch player,” Pansy explained dryly before frowning. “Are you trying to replace Potter with me? Need someone else to complete your trio now that your sister caught his eye?”

Because that was the only thing that made sense as to why they were sitting with her at a café. The last time she seen both of them at the same time, Weasley had told Pansy her father was dead and Granger had rushed to stop him. They had called her the enemy. 

At her words, though, something strange happened. Weasley and Granger both froze. Merlin, could it somehow be true? Pansy’s breath caught in her throat. Then Granger glanced over at Weasley and they shared a look. It lasted, perhaps, two seconds before they were focused on her. But it was clear that in that two seconds they had agreed on something.

“Hardly,” Granger replied. “Harry’s still our best friend.”

“Look, Parkinson—” Weasley began. “I—er, well, really, _we_ —we wanted to, um—”

“Pansy,” Granger interrupted, calm where Weasley had been flustered. “You fascinate us.”

Pansy blinked once. Then twice. The use of her first name, leaving Granger’s mouth soft and familiar and kind, made her skin tingle. She must’ve heard this all wrong.

“Excuse me?” Pansy asked. 

“We, um, we want to… get to know you,” Weasley said, waving his hands around. 

“You want to get to know me,” she repeated slowly. “Is this some trick?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

Pansy looked suspiciously between them. 

“Why would you want to get to know me?”

Weasley shrugged. Granger’s gaze was calculating. Pansy waited for an answer. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her lungs began to burn. 

“I mean,” Weasley answered, hesitant. “We just do.”

“Don’t you want to get to know us too?” Granger questioned.

Instinct made her want to lash out at them. Tell them they were ignorant fools. To trust her gut feeling that there was more to this story than what they told her. _Don’t believe this_. Why would they want to get to know her? Why would they think she wanted to get to know them?

But… but she thought of how often her eyes found them throughout school. She thought of how when she saw one, she thought of the other. How she had longed for a bond like they had. Pansy thought of how she was sure Granger and Weasley had been trying to figure her out over the last few years. Was there a chance their eyes found her as often as hers had found them?

_You fascinate us._

Pansy inhaled slowly. It all felt rather unreal, sitting at this table with two Gryffindor war heroes who she had once considered the scum of the Earth. Over the years, they had all changed, that much was clear. They had all changed and continued to collide at different points in their lives and had felt something.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

Weasley smiled. Granger’s eyes brightened. Pansy’s eyebrows ticked upwards.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a Secret Santa for the HpTriadsNet over on Tumblr! Happy holidays, heyheyohsorry!
> 
> (There will be three parts.)


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